


the mind of a lost boy

by Thatmoose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Autistic Keith (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Other, klance, maybe TW for meltdown, please be kind, there's no space lions don't look for them, they're at a high school party and things turn to shit, they/them pronouns for Pidge, this is my first work on here so, yes the house is cursed don't question it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24869002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatmoose/pseuds/Thatmoose
Summary: It's rough going through life when you have no fucking idea what's going on. Hopefully you'll find help, but maybe help will find you first.Aka Keith has a meltdown and lancey lance does what he does best
Relationships: Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is probably A Mess, but whatever. I originally wrote this story for a project back in high school and I couldn't get it out of my head. It had all OCs, but i think it translates well with the Voltron characters, espacially since i hc keithy boy on the spectrum. 
> 
> I'm glad to get it out of my system and with a little chance if you read it, you'll find something to like

The numbers on Keith’s clock are changing at an agonizing rate. He’s waiting for his friend to show up, twisting and fidgeting on his bed. It’s rare for him to be ready before the last minute, but he’s starting to think the wait is worse than the usual hurry. He had the time to shower and to get dressed, to vacuum and to steal a muffin from the kitchen once… or twice before getting lost in thoughts. His right foot is thumping on his mattress, making his phone bounce and fall on the floor. The music through Keith’s earphones stops and the silence brings him back to reality.  
20h29. His friend won’t be long. 

Keith tumbles down the stairs on his way to the door, cursing his pain out. He still catches himself at the stairs turn though, gripping the rail and flying over the last few steps; perfect landing. 

“Finally, Pidge. I was dying in there” 

They don’t bother to answer, knowing they are precisely on time as always. Punctuality was way more their thing than Keiths, fortunately for him. Pidges unwavering reliability was almost robot-like but Keith found himself grateful for it every time they reminded him of a homework he’d forgotten about or when, like tonight, they showed up exactly at the right moment. 

Keith puts on his boots and throws a coat over his shoulder before stepping out, putting his hat on once they start walking, carefully slicking his hair under it. If Pidge is dragging him to a party he doesn’t want to attend, at least the walk is enjoyable. The cold air is biting his cheeks and nose, however the streets are calm for a saturday evening and the snow blanket subdues the city noises, leaving only the soft crunch under their feet. Winter really was the best season. He hears Pidge double check the number on the side of the door, when the urge to flee makes his toes wiggle in his boots. With good timing he could double back and make a run for it without his friend noticing…

“Dude, don’t make me take you by the hand, i'll do it.”

Pidges threat couldn’t be more serious, but their face is beaming with a smile. They surely are a confusing little being but keeping people on their toes is where half the fun is, they always said. Keith does really freaking love them because he drops his plan and follows Pidges lead, making sure to groan in discontent loud enough for them to hear over the faint music. 

*

On the other side of the door, they get swarmed by people chanting and clapping for Pidge. Keith could swear they were waiting for them because it only takes a second before they both have a beer in their hands. His friend really feels like a star right now, after all they basically are. He knows they won some kind of tournament or hacked some kind of platform but he couldn’t understand a word when they tried to tell him and at this point it would be embarrassing to ask for simpler terms so he sticks with feinted understanding. It's good to see his friend so happy though, giving high fives and hugs left and right.

Keith, however, feels claustrophobic in this crowd and signals Pidge to move forward. Together, they find the living room and spot the couch at the same time, giving each other that knowing look. Although they are walking literal inches apart and he stands a foot taller than them, nobody pays attention to Keith. He doesn’t complain about it. He can’t recognize anyone anyways and he surely won't stop to introduce himself. 

It is only once settled in the way-too-stiff couch that Keith takes in his surroundings. The hardwood floor shade is a bit too pale to match the furniture and it has a small leveling problem, tilting to his right. Worse, the house has a disgusting smell. Keith guesses it’s booze, cheap deodorant and, ironically, sweat. The music is way too loud now that he’s sitting next to the speaker. The dimmer is on low, which Keith appreciates. That's pretty much the only thing making him feel good right now. What was the point of coming here, already? Oh, yeah. Keith turns his attention back to his friend, who simingly found an audience to recount their stories. 

"So, you see, the trick was to... and then... exactly! When..."

Keith keeps trying to scooch closer to his friend in an effort to hear them better, in vain. He's closer than he should need to be and Pidge is talking loudly enough for the other people to stay captivated by their tales, so why can't he get over the noise problem? It's completly distracting. Pidge, though, looks like they're doing pretty good without him, Keith tells himself. They talk with passion in their eyes and big, excited gestures, magnetizing the people walking by until there is a full on crowd aroud them again. It's a beautiful sight, even if he fells like he's looking at a picture he isn't in. He'll gladly listen to Pidge talking about nerd stuff, but he couldn't bring any pertinent commentary on it if he wanted to, so they tend to rely on anyonse else around to maintain the conversation. Keith isn't offended by it, it's completly logical. When he gets up and leave, Keith doesn't bother his friend with a warning. Maybe he can find a quieter place somewhere.

Well, the house is way bigger from the inside than it looked on the outside, that for sure. Regardless, Keith can’t find a single empty corner. It’s kind of crazy when he thinks about it, but the entire thing is occupied by tipsy teenagers. The living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the bathroom... No, wait. He never checked the bathroom. Surely it'll be calmer in there, if he can find it. 

By now, he double checked every inch of this floor. Peace was still nowhere to be found. Wherever Keith looks, primary colored freckles of light dance in in the same pattern. It’s hypnotizing, the way it lights the faces of those in their path. And pretty. He could stare at them until everybody left and he was finally alone… Except Keith’s vision is starting to spin and the familiar tightness of nausea is creeping in his guts. To change his focus, he tries to spot a figure he could know in the crowd. Maybe his savior has finally arrived. Well, he’s not that lucky. It becomes clear that there are way too many people crammed together to distinguish anyone. That plan falls apart with a piece of Keith's hope. 

Bathroom. He can do it. Keith shakes his head to make the dizziness disappear, which works partially. Navigating in the crowd is as much of a struggle as it sounds: couples are kissing in every corner, friends are playing beer pong and those who can’t play are forming a tight circle to watch. They are drinking and dancing and blocking all the hallways. Keith has to keep moving though, the people constantly bumping into him driving him mad if he stops for too long. His quest for calm still carries on as he takes tiny sips of the beer he's still holding and tries to smile to keep up with the party mood. But he was never in the mood. So he stops. 

As he walks, or more realistically pushes his way forward, his pointer finger finds its way underneath his other arm’s bracelet. It’s a red friendship bracelet that he made for him and Pidge, theirs all green. He doesn’t think he’s ever taken it off, always cheating and hiding it under long sleeves when he wasn’t allowed to have it. As his finger twists, the rope wraps around it and tightens. It sinks into the skin of his wrist, into his finger. It doesn’t hurt. He’s not even realizing he’s doing it. The feeling in his hand is fading away and he drops his beer. The sound of it hitting the ground isn’t alerting amongst the party hubbub and over the loudest music ever, so he walks right over it. Undisturbed, he keeps going. Keeps twisting his finger harder.

Keeps going.  
And twisting.  
And twisting.  
And twisting.

He’s not sure how long he’s been going around in circles. He forgot about the bathroom long ago. Right now, he only needs Pidge. For fucks sake, he needs his friend so bad and he thinks it’s the first time they don’t show up when he needs them. He should have found her by now, but they’re not on the couch anymore and it’s getting harder and harder to see as his hair starts sticking to his forehead, bangs getting in his eyes. 

He keeps going. Turns when he faces a wall. Trips once over a bunch of discarded boots. The people around Keith keep changing so he knows he’s walking. Then again he could be wrong. There is no way the floor is that huge. 

Through his blurry vision and cloudy mind, one thing is clear. He _despises _the arms wet from sweat or whatever substance he doesn’t want to know about that keep brushing his own arms. He should’ve chosen a sweater to cover up, what was he thinking about, wearing just a tee to a party of all places? He had never been to a lot of those, but enough so he knew people are always too hot and sweaty and gross.__

____

It's overwhelming. His head hurts like a bitch. His ears are ringing from the music and he still feels nauseous from the lights that just _won’t STOP MOVING _. He truly feels like a headless chicken looking for Pidge when they’re visibly not here anymore so he stops to breathe and text them.__

_____ _

Poor Keith doesn’t even have a chance to reach in his pocket before a boy slams into him from behind, starting the crumbling of Keith’s last bits of sanity. The impact itself is not so violent and he’s able to step forward to regain his balance, but he swears in that exact moment, he is ripped away from his body. He can see his conscience shattering on the floor at the feet he can't register as his own. How can one's body feel like a thousand pound and inexistant simultaneously? It feels like a bad dream, the kind where you wake up in cold sweat. Except he was never asleep and there is no waking up from this living hell. He manages to turn around without falling to his knees and catches a few words spoken by the boy.

_____ _

“... eez, are you alright? I didn’t mean to dude, i swear! You look terri...”

_____ _

He’s taller than him. He thinks. Maybe he didn't get up afterall. Or maybe he just feels so freaking small under the stare of the bluest eyes he has ever seen. The dimmed lights are off now so it’s darker inside but he can see their color so well it's unreal. Keith sees the boy look down to his hand, then sees his eyebrows shoot up. He isn’t aware of how tight his bracelet is until he looks at it. 

_____ _

Red.  
Blue. An ugly one this time.

_____ _

His wrist is bleeding from the rope burn and the poor circulation in his hand made it dark and swollen. What the fuck is he doing. He wishes his body to free his martyred hand and finger. Puts all his might into it. He keeps staring at his hand, waiting for it to move, all in vain. Why isn’t this body listening to him anymore?!

_____ _

One would have to be blind not to see how bad Keith looks and the boy doesn’t miss it. A hand grips his shoulder and forces him to look up. It’s firm and gentle, warm. Keith's cheeks burn hotter when he thought it was impossible. Unexpectedly for both of them, the contact triggers something in Keith. He flinches hard, escaping the well meaning touch. That’s the moment his hand decides to untangle from the bracelet and the same way he couldn’t get it to move, he can’t stop it from flying across to his shoulder and slapping the boy’s hand away. They both stand face to face, confused and hurt, Keith’s hand still mid air. None of them is able to say a word. If Keith can trust the boy’s wide eyed expression, he thinks he’s completely nuts. He’s not sure he can disagree. He tries to take a deep breath, failing to take in more than a choked gasp. 

_____ _

“I…”

_____ _

What could Keith even say at this point? Plus, it feels awful to talk. He must have been clenching his jaw hard, because opening his mouth sends waves of pain right into his skull. 

_____ _

“I’m so fucking sorry”

_____ _

That should do it. He doesn’t answer the boy’s question and simply walks away, as fast as he can going against the current of people. He has no idea where he is going. He doesn’t care anymore. He keeps his mind on the steps he takes and on the tightness in his throat and chest. 

_____ _

He needs to scream. To get free from the chaos in his mind, the numbness of his body, the pain still on his shoulder that won’t go away no matter how hard he rubbes it. He still can’t fucking see anything although he put his hair back, sweat and tears blurring his already spinning vision. 

_____ _

By chance, or by miracle, he makes it outside. 

_____ _

The wind is cold. So are his bare feet. He stays still now, standing on the deck facing the street, his back to the party. Horrible, horrible party. Keith’s face is warm despite the winter temperature, his cheeks soaked in tears. He puts his fists to his temples in an attempt to steady himself. Something finally feels good. His swollen hand stings when he uses it, yet he keeps clenching his fist tighter and clamping his head harder. Somehow, it does help him think clearer and he can sit down to try to sort all of this out. His side is leaning on the metal guard of the deck, spikes of the intricate design poking his skin through his shirt. His back hits the brick wall of the house in a slow rhythm as he rocks back and forth. He feels his knees on the side of his head, close to his hands. Keith closes his eyes and let the stream of tears run down his face onto his lap. Maybe he’s screaming. He can’t tell. He tries to gather himself, to get a grip. How did it come to this?

_____ _

Keith has no idea what to think of anything anymore. The only things on his mind are the cold and the pain, but amongst them sneaks bright, beautiful blue eyes.

_____ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little funnier hopefully, i swear it gets better

Lance wasn’t particularly looking forward to the party. It was a cold night and there was no bus driving that far out of the city so he would have to walk a good part of the way. Plus, he still had so much to do for his final social issues class essay and unlike what some of his classmates seemed to think, there would be no miracle before the due date.

He only agreed to ditch his homework because Hunk promised to get him laid and that was, objectively, worth it. 

So he and his buddy took the bus and walked in the arctic like night to find themselves inside this humongous house in the middle of a remote residential neighborhood. The owner's son is a friend of Hunk’s and he can’t imagine how they met because that kid is apparently royal or something. 

Inside, the ambience is surprisingly good for a rich kid party. It’s none of the suits, ties and hors-d’oeuvres he expected from the movies. That would’ve meant he couldn't trust his homie to choose weekend activities anymore and he would have to cover every week by himself. That should sound like a good thing, but there really are so many bars to get kicked out of before you’re banned from every spot in the city. Truly, Lance has to give the host props for setting the mood, ‘cause everyone is dancing in there. He joins the bunch as soon as he get in, getting him and Hunk inside the dance circle in the living room. 

Looking around the masses, he can’t seem to recognize another face. “Come one, this is the best thing you could have asked for! This is perfect for picking up a lady with no attachments, you got this”, he repeats himself, discarding the intruding thought that those aren’t his people and that he doesn’t fit in. A song he knows the lyrics to blasts through the speakers behind him and there he goes again, singing loud and drowning his own reflections with the fast rhythm. 

He holds close to Hunk most of the time and they dance together when the girls vanish a bunch at a time, making trips to the bathroom. 

It’s easy not to pay attention to the dudebros across the room. Lance feels them staring at him wiggle his ass and roll his hips without shame. Haters gonna hate and douches gonna be jealous of his fine moves. What can he do about it? 

It is, however, harder to not stare at the pretty girls all around him do the same twerky moves as him. Damn, Hunk really nailed it with this party because the hot chick ratio is trough the fucking roof. 

Wait, where is Hunk? Lance could swear the dude was there a second ago. He just closed his eyes to feel the beat drop and when he opened them again… Ah Ha! A head with a familiar bandana poking above the others draws his attention. Again, Hunk is almost half a foot taller than the tallest in here, so there's no missing him. Gaze fixed on the top of his buddy’s head, Lance slowly makes his way to him. 

*

Holy Fucking Shit, it’s really them. Lance only knew their alias, but Hunk introduced them as Pigeon or something, which made him doubt it was their real name either. It’s hard to listen over the music so he can’t be sure, but whatever, that kid is a legend! They can have a bird name if they want to! It’s impressive to see them act exactly like in the streams, as sarcastic and cocky in real life than behind a screen. That folk must have balls of steel to talk like they do, especially considering their gnome sized body and their little frame showing underneath a console brand oversized hoodie. Lance immediately gets how Hunk and Pigeon became good friends. They just have a chemistry he almost gets jealous of, only to realize nothing could get between him and Hunk. They were like family after all. He sees Pigeon go on and on about strategies they used to defeat a certain enemy formation in a game he knows about but never played. Hunk gives his own ideas for the next time, both of them so invested they forgot all about Lance. It stings a little, although he doesn’t mind being left out this time if it means letting them enjoy their reunion. And it’s funny witnessing Hunk getting giddy over their conversation. He would absolutely love to get to know that Pigeon kid better though. What a funny small gremlin they seem to be and Lance’s all there for it. 

“Hunk, my dude, you won’t believe what the host gave me. Either he’s an idiot or he has way too much fucking money, check this out”

Pigeon shoves their hand in the big pocket of their hoodie and pulls it out holding a small key. They all stare at it dangling until Pigeon explains what it opens. They tell it like they’re whispering, but loud enough to hear over the still playing music. Hunk’s jaws nearly falls to the floor. It must feel so good to be rich enough to give a stranger the key to your cellar. Plus, basing his assumptions on the house’s size, that cellar has to be huge. Man, that Pigeon’s fame really made people do some crazy shit. 

Lance sees the duo experience what can only be a telepathie moment ‘cause they both turn around at the same time and walk away laughing like maniacs and leaving him behind. Looking at them heading for the basement door, Lance thinks they did make a great duo.

Now that he has slowed down from the dancing, he takes the time to spin and take in the people around him. His conclusion: there is so fucking many, what the fuck is up with that. There is no greater lover of dense parties than Lance, except this one has crossed the fine line between dense and clogged. The house is fully packed with drunken teens and it reeks of booze and sweat. Or maybe it’s coming from him. Yeah... he’ll take a second to rinse his face and put on deodorant. His heart beats at a normal pace now, but he'd been dancing for an impressive amount of time not long ago. Checking his armpits for wet stains, he can at least say it doesn’t show too much. 

Lance’s throat is sore from singing along and yelling over the noises, so he needs a drink first. Can’t start the flirting part of his night with the voice of a firty year old smoker. He had fun with Hunk, now’s the time to try and have a different kind of fun. Surely he can pull this off even without Hunk as his wingman. He promised he would be but he could take a raincheck on it.

It takes a few trials and errors before finding the kitchen. The place is less crammed and the flow of people seems better, only hungry or thirsty ones stopping by, then moving on. It’s another story for the dining room however. He sees the ping pong balls flying and hears the crowd cheering. Once he reaches the fridge, he takes a beer for himself and offers one to a dude eying him, but the bottle opener is nowhere to be found. Awsome. Time for a trick. He uses the marble counter to force the cap off, licking the beer head dripping from the bottle opening. A brunette watches him closely and she is giving Lance The Look. Sweet. He throws her a wink. In his head, he debates approaching her. Lance is certain he smells like shit because he hasn’t found a single bathroom on his way there. It’s true rich folks are good at hiding the nasty stuff. Besides, he could always try again with a prettier girl. Nothing wrong with this one, he just knows he can land higher. He might be lanky, but he likes to think his face compensates for it. Plus he can move his hips in a way that drives them mad and… Oh, why not. Lance’s going for it. He makes a show of taking a big sip, putting down his beer, looking her up and down and locking eye contact before finally making his way towards her.

“Hello there,” he whips out his best smirk, “the name’s Lance, but you can call me Anytime”

Hell yeah, the girl totally laughs at that and gives him her own name and number. If he’s lucky enough tonight, he won’t have to use the number, but he pulls out his phone to note it anyway.

As Lance is leaning forward to discern the numbers better, he hears a shout in his direction. Oh please, not a boyfriend. Lance’s head shoots up a fraction of second before one of the dudebros from earlier pushes him back, hitting him in the chest with the flat of his hands. 

Lance is sent flying backwards and it takes a second until he can gasp, wind knocked out of his lungs. There’s nothing he can grip to stop his fall. Just when he thinks he’s gonna be floor pancakes, someone catches him from behind. It’s not exactly voluntary, it seems, but it does the trick and Lance is back on his feet. 

He turns around to thank the guy and make sure he’s ok. Lance starts to ramble on apologies for making the dude tumble too and shit. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the guy’s face. The pure terror he sees facing him is the one of a fucking deer under the lights of a car. 

The guy's hair is a mess and it’s sticking all over his face. He wants to reach and put them back in place. He only refrains when he catches the guy’s arms in his peripheral vision. Fuck, what is he doing to himself? Poor dude’s probably bad tripping or something and it pulls at Lance’s caring instincts. 

Lance does what he always does with his little sisters when she has panic attacks. First, eye contact, then a reassuring smile. Maybe he could give him a glass of water and take him home. One step at a time. Eye contact. The dude's head is bowed down so he either has to kneel or get the other to look up. 

Lance delicately lays a hand down on the dude's shoulder. He did his best not to rush him so the response he gets surprises him, feeling panic then confusion when his arm’s slapped out of the way. 

The next moment feels stopped in time. They hold each other's gaze and Lance can tell the guy’s mind is going a hundred miles per hour. The look he's giving him… Lance feels naked under it, it’s so intense. He’s looking at him through the bangs Lance wants to touch so bad and impossibly long lashes. Goddamn, whatever caused him to be in this state should be made illegal along with those freaking lashes. Just as Lance is about to give him his name, the guy beats him to talking. He has the audacity to apologize as if any of this is his fault and takes off in the main door’s direction. Lance’s left alone once again. 

This time, he does mind. Why? It's a mystery, he barely knows the guy. Hell, he said about a sentence to him. Still, Lance feels like he has to get to know him. He feels responsible for his safety too. He'd bet money that nobody else will help him out. It's hard to ignore a face like his, but teenagers are just awful some times. The more Lance thinks about the stranger, the more set his mind becomes on finding him. He can't just let him go in the state he is that'd be like, negligence or something. Yeah. Lance will find the guy and take care of him until he can look in his eyes and be sure he'll be alright. Look into his eyes again. That does sound good. He remembers them dark and bottomless, so easy to get lost into; like one loses themself looking up at the night sky wishing they were with the stars... Wait no. He remembers the terror on his face. On his totally not attractive face and especially his completely regular normal eyes. And lashes. Also not attractive. Fuck. There’s no time to think about it more and Lance is already halfway to the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! It's been a while, but we're getting there :)
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter, but the last one will be longer and fluffier so hold on and have faith, folks
> 
> It goes without saying, but comments of any kind are so, so much appreciated. They make my day and I love feedback, wether it's critisism or else. So, please don't hesitate to leave your thoughts!

Sitting outside, mere feets away from dozens of kids, Keith has never felt more alone. His mind is still twirling, and it doesn’t seem ready to settle down just yet. 

At least, Keith feels like he can breathe for the first time of the night. The air stings the inside of his throat as it passes and makes his lungs burn with cold. It’s freezing, like everything around him at the moment. He wished he could get up and _go home_. Why can’t he? Why won’t his body move and just-

“Hey buddy... I’m sorry I hurt you back there.”

Keith could hear him clearly now. Of the innumerable voices he’s heard talking, singing and yelling tonight, this one he actually doesn’t mind.

It sounds better now that it’s not competing with the deafening beat playing everywhere in the house. It sounds like a friend’s. 

“I won’t touch you again, I promise,” the boy says while shifting his weight, making the thin layer of snow crunch under him.

Keith can _feel_ the boy kneeling beside him more than he can see him. They’re sitting not so close that Keith minds but not too far apart either. Keith can easily understand the other boy when he finally talks. 

“The name’s Lance.”

The name makes the spirals of thought in Keith’s head halt to a stop. For only a second, Keith is vividly aware of the boy’s presence. Of the warmth he gives off. The one he feels curling in his stomach, fighting against the winter to hang on a moment longer.

He has to look up. 

It’s hard to discern anything other than the back of his short brown hair. This Lance boy is sitting in the stairs right below him and he is facing the street too. 

There are no passing cars to look at: only a house identical from the one they are sitting in front of. Nobody is walking outside. There are no squirrels, no moths flying around the street light either. So what was he drawn to so intensely?

 _Fair enough._

Keith guessed in the state he was in, it’d be completely understandable for this Lance to avoid laying a single eye on him. He’d do too. 

The situation was truly embarrassing. His eyes hurt from the frozen tears stuck at his lashes. His nose was snotty. His hand looked like shit and he guessed his hair was in as bad of a state. He _ran away from a high school party_ and was crying, curled up outside, like he was in a tv drama, for fuck's sake. 

And as much as he had prayed for Pidge to show up, Keith felt… _relief_ to see Lance’s figure instead. He couldn’t explain why. It simply didn’t make sense, like just about everything happening to him that night. 

“Keith,” he manages to say in a voice hoarser than normal, throat thick from crying. Shit, he’s glad he could say anything at all.

The silence that follows doesn’t feel awkward. Keith doesn’t know what else he could say, so he shuts up and waits for something to happen. They stay still, none of them talking, long enough that Keith wonders if he found way to fuck up again. Yet, Lance isn’t getting up to leave. 

“Keith, uh?” Lance sends over his shoulder tentatively, with what Keith thinks must be a smirk. “That’s a really pretty name.”

“You know,” he says as he turns back to look at the empty street, “ I happen to have a niece. Her cat had babies last summer – if you ask me, it was the neighbor's cat’s doing even though the guy denies it, I mean looking at the babies there’s really no mistaking.” 

Keith hears the faintest laugh, pretty and light, traveling slowly from the boy and stretching just far enough for Keith to catch it. 

“Anyway,” Lance resumes, “she named one of them Keith Cat and she thinks it’s _so funny_. Every time she calls his name she always giggles – she’s got the cutest laugh– so it became my favorite one out of the bunch pretty quickly. ”

Keith can’t resist the small tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I know parents aren’t supposed to have favorites but i’m kind of the uncle so i think it’s fine,” Lance chuckles, shifting his body to look at Keith. Lance is giving him a smile so fond it makes Keith’s inside feel mushy, even if he knows it’s not really meant for him. 

“Oh I almost forgot,” Lance says, eyebrows shooting up. He turns away for a second, a coat in his hands when he’s facing Keith again. 

“I didn’t know which one was yours, so i grabbed mine. You don't _have_ to put it on but if you planned on camping out here you totally should. My mama always says i have warm blood so i’ll be alright.”

Keith shifts his body to reach forward, ready to take whatever is being held in front of him. Fingers almost touching the fabric, Lance’s words sink in.

Is he… is Lance staying with him? 

He came to apologize and that was super sweet. Keith appreciates the gesture. Hell, he almost felt like coming to the damned party was worth it just to hear that adorable rant about cats. Lance was even offering him his coat!

But why the hell would he do more than that? 

The people didn’t… they didn’t usually care about him. 

His classmates, every single one of them with the exception of Pidge, would look at him the same way. Furrowed eyebrows, empty faces. Like he was an inconvenient stain on a piece of glass, keeping them from seeing clearly further. Then they pass him and move on. 

They never stop for him. Never sit with him. Wait for him. Keith doesn’t have anything to offer anyway, why would they bother?

The look Lance is giving him just now, though, is so much different. His eyes are fixed on Keiths, not trying to see through them, but giving him encouragement. Telling him to go ahead, that they are both going to be fine. It sends shivers through his limbs, down to his fingertips. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed eye contact before this very moment. 

Hesitantly, he reaches out for the coat, not minding his bleeding hand, and thanks Lance properly. 

Holding the clothing, he can tell it’s more of a jacket than a coat. It looks army green in the timid light coming through the window. It’s way softer than he anticipated.

He takes a second to get used to the touch. Feeling the seams up and down. Rubbing the fabric between his fingers. 

Once he deems it tolerable, he puts the jacket on his head.

He knows he looks like an idiot, but it makes his vision pitch black and it muffles the noises around him. The only feelings he’s left with are the well-worn fabric on his neck and a scent he can’t quite put his finger on.

It’s a nice one, though. 

And he feels calmer already. 

*

Keith loses track of time after a while. The pain in his chest fades away and he is left with nothing but numbness. His hands. His head. They all feel weirdly weightless.

It’s better than the state he was in before, so Keith takes it as a win. 

When he musters up the courage to lift his head from under the jacket, he is surprised by the sight of a shivering boy looking right back at him. 

“I’m uh.. I’m sorry, I don't know- that took way too long, ” Keith whispers, holding still. 

God. Keith slapped the boy, then forced him to sit outside for who knows how long in the middle of the winter without his freaking jacket. Surely he misinterpreted something and Lance was waiting fo Keith to give his jacket back so he could get the fuck away from here. 

“It’s okay, Keith, don't worry about it. Do you feel any better now? ‘Cause we can stay out here or I could walk you home if you want to,” Lance says through his chattering teeth with surprisingly little hesitation. The tone of his voice is reassuring and warm and it makes Keith’s guts grow warmer too. 

He breaks from his motionless state to look down at himself. The red tee he’s wearing is dark from the sweat and the snow, clinging to his neck and back. His socks are soaked all the way through and he can definitely tell it’ll look like he pissed himself when finally stands up.

_What a mess._

Taking a deep breath, Keith pushes on his knee with his good hand and gets up painfully, all of his joints cracking one after the other. He was that tense, huh? 

“Now that i think about it, we really should get you warmed up or you’ll catch a cold. ” 

_I’m not the one trembling like a goddamn leaf, Lance._

Lance mirrors Keith and stands up, allowing Keith to finally take a good look at him. He’s taller than him, he’s sure of it now. The boy’s rocking a pale blue sweater with a lion head on the front. The jeans he’s wearing make miracles for his legs and shit it looks like they go on for days. Keith notices Lance has shoes on, unlike him, but his nose and cheeks are veiled with red from being outside. Fuck, the universe didn’t miss with that one. He has to look away now or he’ll be staring until the snow melts.

“Thanks, but you- you should go back inside, now. I’ll just wait for my friend here. I’ll be fine,” Keith lies, holding out the jacket for Lance to take.

Lance doesn’t even look at it. 

He doesn’t _want_ the boy to leave him. The thought of being an inconvenience _does_ make his heart pound and his palm go sweaty, however. It makes him want to run the farthest his legs will allow him and never come back. 

Looking at Lance and the genuine worry in his eyes, though, that idea starts so sound a bit stupid. 

Keith swallows whatever it is that makes him want to puke at the thought of being a burden and nods, a silent proof of his understanding. He’ll do as Lance says. “ But I don’t want to, you know...” A look at the closed door is all he can manage. He prays Lance will understand getting back in that party feels like suicide. He feels better now, it wouldn’t be worth it to risk it all away.

“The thought didn’t even cross my mind. Trust me, even I got overwhelmed in there,” Lance answers promptly, as if he read his mind. “I had time to look around a little and there’s actually a staircase on the side of the house that leads to the top floor, if you feel adventurous.”

Any chance of drying off that is not the main door is one he will take.

He nods in response and follows Lance’s lead. They go down the small flight of stairs and head for the left side of the house. Right in front of them is a small spiral staircase leading to a balcony and they stand at the top in no time. 

“Ready?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH! It's finally over, people :')
> 
> I've had conflicted feelings about this story for a while there, but I'm glad I was able to finish it decently (I hope, at least)  
> I love these boys so much,,, they love each other,,, all is good
> 
> Thank you for sticking around this far

“You’re lucky that the window was open, ” Lance shouts, “otherwise I would’ve had to push you down the chimney!”

Lance really should keep his voice down. It’s completely dark. They don’t know in what room they’re in and there could be a parent or something like that. Keith isn’t opposed to sketchy stuff himself, of course not. But that man was just begging to get caught. 

A crashing sound makes Keith’s head snap in Lance’s direction and suddenly the lights are turning on, revealing a bedroom. Keith witnesses Lance struggling to get the alarm clock he knocked off a table back in place as he closes the gap between them. He is leaving wet footprints in his path, the only proof of their passage through the now closed window.

“Now, now. Do you see anything we could use to get you warmed up?”

If the color of his fingers is any indication, Lance needs it just as much as him. 

“Maybe… I think... We should look for warm water.” Unsure if he actually managed to say the words aloud, Keith is a little surprised when Lance smiles and nods at him. Nonetheless, they move on with a new goal in mind, heading out of the room together. 

The entire floor is only divided into two rooms with a narrow corridor leading to a staircase- one he never saw from the floor below- separating them. Coming out of the bedroom on the right, the only place they can go is across the corridor. 

Keith opens the door with caution, concentrating to calm his shaky hands. He listens for tells of a presence of some kind; a person sleeping or say, getting laid. When he is met only with silence, he judges the room safe enough to enter.

After hitting the light, Keith can see how much bigger this room is. The positioning of the bed tells him this one is a teen's bedroom. Even ignoring the cornered mattress, the pop stars posters littering the walls easily give it away. If Keith was into any of those idols, he would have all the reasons to be jealous.Too bad he’s not. 

He does, however, hear Lance bite back a gleeful scream as he steps in behind him. _Cute._

Time to show more of that adventurous spirit Lance asked him about. He should move further into the room. Easy beginning for an adventure. He’s walked before. He can do it again. And yet, Keith’s feet refuse to leave the ground. They’re heavy. Heavy with the weight of Lance’s breath on his neck. Anchored by the rhythm of him inhaling, exhaling.

Inhaling, exhaling. 

Keith can feel him so close it’s almost outrageous. If he took a step backward, he would certainly bump into Lance’s chest and he doesn’t want his back leaning against Lance. He _doesn’t_ want to find out just how much warmer he would get pressed against him and he most of all _wouldn’t_ want to risk Lance putting his arms around him. 

No. 

So he has no choice. The only way to go is forward. He puts a foot in front of the other painfully, feeling like he’s fighting against a current. 

Standing in the middle of the room, Keith chooses one of the doors standing on each side of him. 

Behind the first one is a closet, unsurprisingly. It’s full of dresses and shoes, nothing of use to him. He turns around for a second, looks Lance up and down once. Then twice. Keith catches a glimpse of surprise on Lance’s face before turning back to the dresses. There’s one hanging in the back as blue as the boy’s eyes. Lance would look amazing in it and he sure had the legs for it.

Keith shakes his head. Better save that thought for later. 

Together, they walk to the second door. Lance swings the door open and-

“What... the hell is wrong with these people,” Lance lets out in a breath. 

In front of them is the most ominous shit Keith has ever seen. _Um, everything, apparently._

A single sink stands in the middle of a three foot square otherwise empty space. It’s the weirdest possible discovery. Keith would have expected at least a toilet or a bathtub, hell a whole goddamned jacuzzi would have been less surprising than a sink that’s not even pressed against the back wall. He can’t deal with this. What even was this??

Lance reaches from behind him and slowly closes the door in Keith’s face as if any sudden movement would scare the damned thing. 

“I have not seen a single bathroom in this house and I didn’t question it too much,” Lance says once they face each other again, “but this is just making me wonder things I’m not sure I want the answers to.”

At that Keith, something starts bubbling in Keith. A scream? Tears? It tickles at Keith’s lips until he can’t hold it in any longer and what suddenly bursts out is open, uncontrollable... _laughter_. Yeah, that sure is a laugh if he even heard one! He can’t… He doesn’t even know what's funny but he can’t stop laughing and laughing and laughing, his body getting looser and his head, lighter. Fuck, it feels good. Lance is laughing with him and _oh shit,_ it’s doing things to Keith’s heart. His laugh is quieter, softer than he would’ve thought, it rolls out of him easily so warm and inviting. The smile pulling Lance’s lips makes his whole face seem brighter, makes his eyes squint the cutest amount. Through his lashes, his eyes shine so blue and full of life, Keith wonders if it’s the reason people bother driving to the ocean. _Beautiful._

It takes him a moment to catch his breath and calm down, but Keith can’t tell if it’s from the laughing or the frantic beating of his heart. A shiver runs through Keith’s body and he is reminded that he is, despite his insides melting, still very much freezing. 

Well, he certainly isn’t opening the cursed door again. Not even for the relief of warming his hands with burning water. Nah-huh. 

He gives the rest of the room a glance and spots the drawers again. Maybe he can find some dry clothes that fit him in there. 

It is full of clothes, but the rest of his discoveries are disappointing. Every shirt feels so small in his hands and even the pair of loose pyjamas he dug from a pile is too skinny for him. Keith isn’t big per say, but he knows the width of his shoulder and the thickness of his chest, and it would be obscene to even try them on.

He must have made a funny face at the thought and Lance catches it, laughing a little when he speaks next.

“I can go look in the other room, if you want,” Lance chuckles, “I bet the dad has something you could borrow.”

* * *

“AH!” Lance squeals, running back into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

_Close one..!_

A second to regroup, that’s all he needs. 

Okay... there. 

“Dude, I almost pissed my pants just now. I heard a…” Lance’s whisper trails off as he goes to crack open the door he just closed to peek at the corridor. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he picks where he left off. “I heard a weird…” he pushes a little and… nothing. _Wait._ Lance straightens up. Hand on doorknob. Left turn. Right turn? He tries again. Puts more muscle into it. Maybe it’s not his lucky day. Keith gives it a shot when Lance steps aside and the door... remains unopened. Mocking them. 

Well, _fuck._

“Are we…” Lance’s words are full of disbelief despite the fact that they both checked for themselves not a second ago. 

“Stuck in here?” Keith finishes for him. “ That would be a plausible conclusion, yeah.”

“Huh,” Lance starts, a worried, yet joyful tone in his voice, “this is a fun turn of events, for sure! We’re in one of those ‘who would you rather be stuck in an elevator with’ scenario, except we’re in a random dude’s bedroom. And we can't bring like... Thor in here. Which, honestly? What a shame, maybe he could bust that door open, at least.” He has to say, that would be great. Him using his muscular ass shoulder, pounding on the door, making the walls shake... Hell, maybe he could make his _legs sh-._ Hold on. Reel that thought in. He had a point before going on that delicious tangent, didn’t he? 

“Keith, what was i saying before?”

“I think you got scared? Is that why you came back so fast?” Keith looks him up and down again, looking for something wrong with him. He has that confused look on his face again. Brows pinching in the middle, a pout bringing out the curve above his lips, loose pieces of hair framing his cheeks… Goddamn the boy is adorable. Lance knows the both of them look like a mess, but he can tell Keith feels less like one now. The utter distress is gone from his expression and in its place is a shyness, maybe a little embarrassment that makes him want to hug the other boy better, whisper _‘you’re okay now’_ until he believes it. He’ll respect Keith’s space, though. He can totally make sure he feels safe either way. He has to. “ You’re not even holding any clothes... Did they not have any?” 

“That’s the thing,” he says, pulled from his thoughts, “I didn’t even make it to the other room! I thought I heard a voice, so i came back here.” 

“And you felt the need to close the door?” There are no sharp edges to Keith’s words. He does sound genuinely curious. 

“Well, I obviously did not mean for it to lock our asses in here, if that’s what you want to know. Plus, how else are we supposed to hide??”

At his words, Lance feels Keith’s mood change. Eyes widening a fraction of second before they squint almost shut, a little pained. Head bowed down, shoulder slouched. Quiet. Was he too rough just now? He meant for it to sound funnier than it came out, it’s true. Lance hates the way his guts twist looking at this defeated Keith. He wants to see Laughing Keith again, his eyes squeezed shut in joy, breathing hard not because of anxiety but because Lance made him laugh until he was almost rolling on the ground. He wants to see Checking Him Out Keith again. Yeah, he caught that one. More than anything, he wants to meet Happy Keith. And he was almost there, stealing the shadow of a smile now and then, feeling the tension dissipate gradually between them. He hopes he didn’t fuck it up too bad. He surely intends to fix it anyway. This weird situation they’ve put themselves into. Keith’s mood as well. Lance clears his voice. 

“Okay, well...we don’t _need_ to get out yet. We already have what we need, let me just,” Lance starts, his voice getting muffled as the sweater he’s wearing passes over his head, leaving him in the white tee he was wearing underneath. “Just take this.” Lance is offering the blue piece of clothing to Keith now, encouraging him to take it with a nudge in his direction. 

Keith's eyes suddenly grow large in realization, head darting from left to right. He sends his arms flying in the air, checking at his sides, patting his way down to his waist. “I lost your jacket.”

Lance looks around them to make sure Keith didn’t just leave it on the dresser or something. True enough, his favorite jacket is nowhere to be seen. 

“Let’s think about this. Just because it’s not in here doesn’t mean it’s lost. I mean, we literally went like two places since I gave it to you… Do you remember having it when we got in?”

“I- You tested if the door was unlocked… then…” Keith is pressing his fists together, pushing knuckles on knuckles. “ Then, you asked me to help with the window so I- Oh god. It’s outside. I put it down on the railing to give you a hand and I- I forgot to take it back. I’m so-”

“Perfect!” Lance interrupts him before he could get that stupid apology out of his beautiful mouth. “We know exactly where it is and nobody’s gonna snoop around that balcony so we’ll just get it once we find a way out of here, no harm done. It’s just too bad ‘cause my phone was in it… I could’ve texted Hunk.” He looks at Keith, explaining further with a smile. “He’s always saving my ass.” 

Lance then sees Keith perk up a little as he remembers that he, in fact, did have his phone with him. His hand dives into his back pocket, eyebrows up with excitement, hope, and… dead. 

“Cold must’ve killed the battery. It’s an old phone it… does that sometimes. This sucks, I’m sorry.” Lance still doesn’t think their arrangement is Keith's fault and he tsks at his apology. They can work this out. 

“First, you’re gonna stop saying you’re sorry. Next time you do, I’m locking you in with the fucked up sink, you’re gonna be sorry you were sorry.” _Ehhhh…_ Okay, he won’t think too hard about that one. He got his point across. 

“Oh… Alright, I’m sor-” Keith stops himself when Lance tilts menacingly. Keith’s face is twisting with the urge to apologize again, but he manages to nod in agreement instead. 

“Theeeeen, you are gonna take this shirt ‘cause yours is _dripping._ ”He shakes his hand holding the sweater to support his point. Smiles when the other boy obliges and takes it. 

Keith shifts a little on his feet, seemingly debating something in his head before partially turning his body. His side to Lance, his hands moves to hold the hem of his t-shirt and a second later, Keith is so shirtless it hurts. The pain is Lance’s, obviously. Lance and his poor, weak heart. Weak for girls swinging their hips and weak, unbearably so, for boys doing _anything_ shirtless. In the moment it takes for Keith to put the sweater on, Lance revels in the curve of the small of his back. Takes in as much pale muscle as he possibly can before passing out, gasping when his eyes lay on Keith’s stomach. Even from his profile he can tell the dude’s _fit_. And Lance is so fucked.

“Man, you ought to give me your workout routine,” Lance says in the most playful tone he can manage, mentallly crossing his fingers his voice didn’t falter as much as he thinks it did. There’s no hiding his burning face, though. 

“I don’t,” Keith says when he turns back to face him. He could swear he can make out a blush flushing his cheeks still pink from the winter cold. “I just run. When I’m stressed. Clears my head...”

Huh. Lance feels a little guilty now. He knows where those muscles come from and it makes it harder to appreciate the beauty of them. He takes another look at Keith, trying to chase the images away.

He’s fully dressed, now. Even more than before since he’s wearing longer sleeves. But _ho-oh._

_Keith is in his sweater now._

Of course Lance realises that was the plan all along and he feels stupid for the pleased squeak he tries his best to hold back. What he had not, in fact, planned for was for Keith to look this fucking cute in it. The sweater is big on Lance and it is definitively, _adorably_ , bigger on Keith. He can only see the tippy tips of Keith’s finger poking from the sleeves, a sliver of collar bone revealed by the loose collar. _Cool. Just act cool, you idiot._

“Better?” Lance asks.

“It’s… really soft. Thanks.” The shy smile he gives him next almost ends him right then and there. 

Okay, they’re on the right track again. 

* * *

“Hey buddy, look what i found!” Lance exclaims proudly, pulling his head from a drawer in the closet.

He is holding a pair of fuzzy socks, grinning from ear to ear. When Keith takes them in his hands, they feel so soft he melts on the spot. To hell cold, drenched socks. He wastes no time discarding them to the side and putting on the fuzzy ones. 

_Fuck yeah._

A freaking cloud wouldn’t have felt better. He keeps his eyes on his feet as he wiggles his toes, letting the fabric prickle his skin gently. It’s only when a figure passes him that his attention snaps back to his new… friend? 

The two of them have been locked in for a while now. Keith has no real way of telling exactly how long Lance has been goofing around the room. What he can say is that this may be the most fun he’s had in a long time. He can tell that Lance is trying his hardest to make him laugh again. Impersonating the pop stars on the walls, lifting random trinkets he finds and going on and on extensively about their made up stories... all while never taking his eyes away from him. Making sure he’s feeling okay. If he’s made him smile. And it _might_ be working. Embarrassing, isn’t it. 

His last trick to lift the tension was putting on a dress from the closet. And, god help Keith’s soul, it’s the dress he was looking at earlier. He was right, too. Lance looks stupidly good. 

He wears the dress so confidently. It makes up for the thin straps squeezing his shoulders, making the skin around them dip, and the almost dizzying way the hem of the skirt sways just above his thighs revealing a bit too much of his boxer briefs. Yeah, the dress may be too small. Keith sure as hell won't point it out. 

They both got rid of their inconfortable wet jeans a while ago, but Keith is painfully more aware of Lance’s lack of pants than his own. So um, Keith’s not so sure Lance got rid of any tension at all. 

Lance got out of the closet, seemingly happy with Keith’s reaction. He crosses the empty space in the middle of the room and plops on the bed, limbs sprawled in all their long glory, dress raising even higher.

“Ahhh… Do you think I could bring one of those home if I stuffed it in my paaants? I _need_ one…”

Keith can’t even say if he heard right, Lance’s voice muffled by the blanket he has buried his face in. The big purple pile of fluff did seem super soft. How it would feel under his fingertips?

“I- hmm- I’m rather certain that would be stealing,” he answers Lance’s stupid question, slowly coming closer to the bed’s end. “But then again, we climbed through the window.”

“Oh Keith, buddy, my friend,” _friend…_ “Touch this and I promise you won’t be having any of those _morals_ telling you nonsense anymore,” he says, waving his hand as to chase both Keith’s ridiculous point away and ask him to come closer. 

“Oh my god...” The whisper escapes Keith’s lips as he brushes the tips of his finger on the fluffy blanket. Lance wasn’t lying. And he needs one too.

“Right?! Why are we only finding out now?” Lance moves to sit a little straighter, tucking in his legs to make some space on the mattress. He pats the place in front of him. “Come here.”

How could Keith not oblige? He sits, makes the bed bounce a little and his head does a slight spin as he bounces with it. Knees not quite touching Lance’s, body heat barely warming the spots closest to Keith, it feels familiar. His grip on the hem of his sleeves tightens. Lance’s sweater smells the same as his jacket and Keith likes it just as much. He is comfortable now. Calmer. 

If he dared, he would say at peace. 

Once they are both facing each other, Lance breaks the silence that had stilled between them. “Are you still cold?”

“Mmh…” He shouldn’t need to think about it that long. “Probably not,” Keith ultimately settles on. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t think so?” Yeah, he isn’t sure what it means either. He still tries his best to explain. 

“Well, I can’t feel it anymore… and we’ve been inside for a while. So I guess I’m not. Right?”

Keith can’t say who he is trying to convince. He’s a big boy, he should be aware of a thing as simple as his own physical well being. It’s ridiculous of him to need to think so much instead of _knowing_ right away. The confusion is bad. He doesn’t like how lost it makes him feel, and he’s been lost enough tonight. From the moment he got caught with his bloodied hand, Keith’s had this same idea nagging in the back of his mind, the thought of how shameful his lack of self awareness is. Paired with the distress coming from having an acute perception of every other stimuli around him, he’s got himself a deadly mix. It makes him vulnerable- overwhelmed yet empty. 

Burning and freezing. 

“Keith.” Lance is looking him in the eyes, gaze soft and unwavering. He is waiting for him to ease back into reality, Keith probably drifted off for a moment. Why is it so hard to stay out of his head? Still, Lance waits for him, exactly as he’s done time and time again this evening. 

His patience is a mystery to Keith. More than a token of the friendship he couldn’t have asked for, it is a proof Lance cared a little more than Keith deserved. He couldn’t give back a fraction of the kindness Lance showed him if he tried, already miles behind in terms of good deeds. Keith couldn’t hold back from slapping a completely innocent man the first time he saw him. He couldn’t take care of a precious item he let him borrow. Couldn’t always laugh when Lance was trying his damn best to draw it out of him. Couldn’t tell him how much he loved that he kept trying anyways. That he stayed by his side. Waited for him. 

“Keith, can I? Please tell me if it isn’t okay.”

_Oh._

Long, tanned fingers are hovering over his own. 

Keith’s throat feels tighter than before, skin tickly where it is so close to Lance’s. The space Lance left between them for Keith to withdraw if he needed to is respectful and so, so sweet. If only Keith’s body didn’t ache for the touch. _It needed it_ , a hold to ground him, something to keep his sanity from slipping away. 

Keith couldn’t do much for Lance at the moment. He couldn’t be so caring and thoughtful. So selflessly giving. 

He knows he couldn’t. 

But, maybe- one more time- Keith could be selfish, and _maybe_ it would be enough. And so Keith gives Lance what he does have to offer, permission.

“Yes,” he has to clear his throat before continuing, “Yes. It’s okay.”

Just like that, Lance takes Keith’s hands in his own. It’s not feathery light or tentative. His touch is everything Keith knew he needed. Warm, solid. Grounding. Lance is using some strength to keep his grip firm, successfully ensuring the contact is comforting rather than unsettling. 

Keith’s heart doesn't know whether it should slow down or pick up, fluttering in between while it sorts itself out. 

“Mhhh, you seem pretty cold to me,” Lance says as he runs his fingers down Keith’s palms. “Alright so we settle that part, now, let me do something ‘bout it.” 

His hold shifts so that they’re fully holding hands- Keith’s pulse definitively picks up- and Lance gives Keith a squeeze before releasing his left hand. With his free hand, Lance grabs the blanket that was sitting between them. He pulls on it until it’s stretched above them and… drops it on Keith’s head.  
“What-”

“Oops,” Lance laughs, “just give me a sec…” His voice trails off, then there’s the sound of fabric shuffling and Keith sees the light again. The blanket is wrapped around his shoulders and draped on his head, front lifted from his eyes by Lance. He tugs on the blanket a little, making Keith’s hair move with it, the latter rearranging it quickly so it lays flat on his neck. 

When he looks up again, Lance has put the blanket over his own shoulders, the both of them now cocooned the same way Keith was earlier. But... it’s warmer, this time. Keith needs to squint to find the blue of Lance’s eyes in the darkness, looking for an explanation in them. “Huh, this is pretty cozy, Keith. I get it now.” 

This time, Keith thinks his heart stops completely. He does feel himself warming up, but he can’t tell whether the heat is coming from the blanket, from Lance’s body or from his stomach.

He lets it wash over him nonetheless. 

Without moving, the two boys stay under their fuzzy fortress, out of time. 

The party is long gone from their mind, the much more tangible person facing them filling the space until nothing else exists but them. Their hands found each other at some point, so naturally it almost goes unnoticed as they distract themselves with talking. The whispered conversation is light and gets funnier as Keith relaxes and grows more and more comfortable talking. And so, they could’ve stayed hidden together and spent the rest of the night like that. Maybe they had already.

“That’s exactly what I was saying! I would much rather have a sword than-”

“No! Are you crazy? A sword could put you in such a bad position, imagine your enemy has longer arms than you and-”

If they were paying any attention, one of them could’ve heard the click coming from the door handle. They didn’t. Their unheated argument continued as the rattle of a turning doorknob stayed unnoticed too. They didn’t hear the creak of the hinges, nor were they bothered by the footsteps creeping their way. 

“I swear to god if they’re smooching under there, I’m jumping off the balcony and bringing everyone else down with me.” 

“If you don’t want to see, just close your eyes, I’ll do it.”

“Urgh fine, just hurry before they get naked or something.”

If Lance and Keith were listening, they could’ve heard a laugh, too. But they were still whispering to each other, arguing lightly, laughing on their own. 

They stay focused on themselves until the blanket they were so safely hiding under lifts and uncovers them, impossible to ignore, the unexpected movement making them both jump from the mattress and into each other.

“AH!”  
“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Keith whips around and squints at the very unwelcome intruder to discern a face, blinded by the sudden brightness. 

Lance beats him to it and he hears in an incredulous tone, “Hunk??!”

Keith doesn't know a Hunk. He keeps looking around, eyes falling on a figure he does know, a little too well. 

“Pidge?”

“Hey, Pidgeon’s here too!!”

“Can I look, now? Is it panty free??”, Pidge asks, voice muffled by the hands they hold in front of their face. 

_God, I can’t believe I actually missed you._ Is he happy to see them? He’s still debating. Keith’s gaze shifts from his friend to the much more imposing person in front of him- Hunk, apparently- and catches him looking nervously between him and Lance. 

“I wouldn’t say that... no.” Pants. They weren’t wearing pants. “But I think it’s fine.” Hunk is examining his face and, oh, Keith can feel his cheeks burning.

“What the fuck, dudes,” Pidge lets out in a breath as they finally take in the scene in front of them. 

Lance is the first to defend their arrangement, his shock passed and his natural cool returned. “Hey, I’ll let you know we were doing great before you two barged in. Would you at least tell us what we did to be interrupted like that and- _WAIT_ , how did you even get in here??!”

“The door was locked from the outside, so we unlocked it,” Hunk explains, as though it was the most normal thing. 

“And how,” Keith starts, eyes finding his friend’s again, guilt starting to form it’s familiar knot in his guts. “How did you know we were here?”

Pidge… doesn’t seem angry at him. Keith left abruptly and he thought Pidge would be mad for not warning them, but, eyebrows pinched, softness in their eyes, they looked apologetic. Sorry. Kieth guesses they both were. “Hunk saw Lance’s jacket outside and figured you would be somewhere on this floor. It was a lucky strike that you two were together, though. But um, we pretty much looked everywhere else, and Keith, your boots were still there so you couldn’t have left…” Hunk nods in his peripheral vision. “If you _weren’t_ in here, however, I was going to murder someone. This house is making me go insane.”

“YOU TOO??” It’s Lance, effectively saying what everyone is thinking. 

“How about we leave this place, huh?” Hunk suggests with a chuckle. 

This is the best idea Keith heard all night, and he gladly says so. While he and Lance get up to find their respective clothes, Keith can’t help but smile. It’s been a horrible, _horrible_ evening. His socks are still soaked and he struggles when he puts them on. His jeans are heavy. He feels exhausted and he wishes he could go home without so much walking. Everything was awful, he knew it. But _he got through every last bit of it_. He was spiralling and slipping away, broken into pieces he didn’t know how to hold on to, and somehow, here he was, standing again. 

As they all trace back their steps and prepare to leave, Keith keeps smiling. Someone had found him. At his worst, someone had looked at him and stopped. That person had seen the pieces- his fucked up self- and held onto them for him. Lance had seen him, and he’d _waited_ for him. Until he could hold himself up, whole again, Lance had stayed by his side, warm, steady. 

Yes, Keith was grateful for Lance. And it’s probably why, walking together in the winter night, shoulders brushing, Keith didn’t feel cold. Why, when their fingers found each other again and neither of them said a word about it, the corner of his mouth raised higher still. 

And maybe Keith didn’t have much to offer then. Maybe he would need a little time to fully find his footing again, to return the care Lance so easily offered him. Maybe Keith couldn’t do that right now. But he would. And, finally walking home -holding Lance’s hand tight- he felt he could’ve done anything.


End file.
